


The Beast in Her Head

by CDRomelle



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Harm OCD, Intrusive Thoughts, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Other, Self-Harm thoughts, Violent Thoughts, no actual violence just marianne imagining violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CDRomelle/pseuds/CDRomelle
Summary: "I can't believe this," Lysithea says. "Why aren't you like this on the battlefield?"Fangs flash behind her eyelids.Because I like it. Because I like the killing, the blood, the tearing—No, I don't like it! I don't! I'm not… I'm not like that!Not yet.ORMarianne von Edmund has obsessive-compulsive disorder, in this fanfic I will
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	The Beast in Her Head

**Author's Note:**

> Marianne's fear of becoming a beast reads to me like OCD, so I wanted to write a fic that describes what it can be like to have OCD and to not know how to handle intrusive, violent thoughts.

Marianne wakes up slowly. 

So slowly that she has a few seconds, between consciousness and full awareness, where she doesn't remember… where she doesn't know…

And then it's back.

She opens her eyes. 

"Oh, Goddess," she murmurs, "Please protect the people around me from misfortune. And please let me go another day without causing… without becoming…" 

It's too awful to say. She whispers the rest of her prayer into her pillow so no one else could ever hear the terrible truth. 

* * *

The morning's lecture is just interesting enough to keep her mind occupied. If only it was longer. All too soon the Professor is breaking them into pairs to work on personalized assignments. 

"Marianne and Lysithea, faith magic. Claude and Hilda, you're on axe drills. Ignatz and Lorenz, reason. Leonie and Rapahel, brawling drills. Let's go." 

Before Marianne has a chance to move, Lysithea is next to her on the bench. 

"I have a list of questions on which I'm hoping you'll be able to provide some clarity," Lysithea says without preamble. "Question number one: Please elaborate on the ontological connections between restorative magic and a belief in a higher power. I do not understand why one is a prerequisite of the other."

"I…" says Marianne. 

Lysithea blinks her big reddish eyes, waiting. 

"I… I'm not sure that was a question...?"

Lysithea scoffs. "Seteth told me to pray to the Goddess to improve my healing magic, and cited you and Mercedes von Martritz as examples. While it is true that you both excel in healing magic and you both pray very frequently, Linhardt von Hevring in the Black Eagles has Faith scores just as high as you two and he's never in the cathedral and I sincerely doubt he prays. So there must be some other connection that I'm not seeing." 

"I… I don't think I'm the best person…" 

"Of course you are. Last month, Raphael suffered several puncture wounds and three broken bones due to a Crest Beast attack—"

"Oh!" Marianne presses her hands to her face. 

"—And you had him back on his feet in mere minutes. What? That's literally what happened. If it was me there instead of you, the beast would have killed him—"

"Don't say that!" 

"I can't believe this," Lysithea says. "Why aren't you like this on the battlefield?"

Fangs flash behind her eyelids.  _ Because I like it. Because I like the killing, the blood, the tearing— _

_ No, I don't like it! I don't! I'm not… I'm not like that! _

_ Not yet.  _

Lysithea is still waiting for an answer. 

"I…" Marianne gapes. "I…" 

Lysithea lights up. "Oh! Is your aversion to violence part of the skill? A sincere distress that fuels the impetus to fix the problem causing the distress… That is… quite logical, actually. Thank you!" She whips out an enormous tome full of magic circles and diagrams, and buries her nose in it. 

Marianne sits quietly next to her as she reads until class lets out. 

_ I don't like it… I don't like it… I don't… _

But the fangs linger in her mind's eye, sharp and bone-white and sinking into soft human flesh...

* * *

Marianne slices onions with a long knife. In her other hand she holds a fork stabbed into the onion to keep it steady. She is careful not to touch the food. 

She must not touch the food. 

She's on dinner duty tonight, and the meal is quiche. So far, so good. 

Marianne spears the onion pieces and puts them in a bowl. She turns to the spice cabinet. Spices are all right, because they're in bottles and shakers, so technically she isn't touching the food. She picks up salt and pepper, and sprinkles the onions with them. 

This is going well. 

Relieved, Marianne checks the recipe. Her face falls. 

Next is the eggs. 

Marianne has never made eggs before. 

She wrings her hands as she looks at the cartons before her. Eggs are food, and the shell is part of the egg. So if she touches the shell…

"Marianne?" It's Lorenz, her partner on cooking duty. He's chopping carrots and potatoes across the kitchen. "Is everything all right?"

"Um…"

Shells aren't food. Shells are basically like the shakers holding the spices, right? She can touch the shells, so long as she doesn't touch any of the inside part. That must be all right. 

"I'm fine," she tells Lorenz, and picks up an egg. 

She taps it gently against the rim of the onion bowl. Nothing. Taps a little firmer, and inspects her progress. A tiny crack. She prods it, and the shell crumbles, whites oozing out onto her finger. 

Marianne yelps, and throws the whole egg away. 

She tries again. This time, when the egg cracks, she pinches her fingertips on either end and pulls it apart. The yolk slips out, and most of the white, but there's still a thick ring of white inside the shell. Marianne shakes the eggshell a bit. A tiny glop falls. The rest stays in. 

A spoon. That's what she needs. Marianne sets down half the shell, finds a little teaspoon, and uses it to scrape the inside of one eggshell half, then the other. This is working! 

With a sigh of relief, Marianne reaches for another egg. 

"Marianne," Lorenz says. "Could you come take these carrots? I need to start on the crust."

He gestures to a cutting board piled with carrots. 

"All… all right." 

_ Don't touch the food.  _

Marianne crosses the room, uses her fingertips to slip the cutting board to the edge of the counter so she can slide her hand under it without ever touching the carrots. She makes it back over to the bowl of egg and onion. Grips the board by the edges again, and tilts it. 

Carrots cascade down the board. Most land in the bowl. The rest spill onto the countertop. 

"Oh no." 

Marianne casts about desperately, sees a container of utensils by the stove. She takes two wooden spoons from it, and uses them like paddles to shovel the scattered carrots back into her bowl. She can only take two or three at a time. 

"Marianne, may I be of assistance?"

"I spilled the carrots," Marianne says, not looking at him 

"I see that." 

"Could you help me put them in this bowl with the onions?"

"Of course." A pause. "Should I use spoons as well?"

"No, you can use your hands." 

"Very well." 

Lorenz scoops big handfuls of chopped carrots into his long-fingered hands. In moments, all but two of the carrot pieces are in her bowl. Marianne paddles up the last two pieces and places them on top of the pile. 

_ Don't touch the food.  _

"Do you… need help with the eggs?" Lorenz asks. 

"No, that's all right. I can do eggs." 

"Very well…" 

Lorenz returns to the crust.

Marianne returns to her egg. Gentle rap, gentler pull. Scoop one half, scoop the other. Over and over again. Everything quiets down as she settles into the task. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. 

"A very strange method." 

Marianne jumps. Lorenz is at her shoulder, one eyebrow arched. 

"Necessary, I'm afraid." Her voice sounds squeaky to her own ears. 

"Why is it necessary?"

"I can't touch the food." 

"Why ever not?"

Her face burns. She picks up another egg but the routine's off. "Just… just trust me. You really don't want me to touch the food." 

"On the contrary. Have I not told you on many an occasion that your nights on cooking duty are some of the finest meals I have ever had the pleasure of—"

"I never touch the food." 

"Pardon?"

"If you've enjoyed the food I've cooked, that is why. This is just the way it has to be. Please, don't ask me any more questions. 

"Hmm." Lorenz straightens, looking down the counter. "Forgive me, but you still have quite a lot more eggs to break, if we are to make quiche for all our classmates. Perhaps you should simply use your fingers to scoop out the egg white."

"I can't do that, Lorenz." 

"Well… far be it to contradict a lady. Perhaps you might just pick up your pace a bit…" 

Her cheeks burn. Faster than before, she grabs an egg, raps it against the bowl, moves it over the bowl. Her fingers are wet. She's pulling the egg apart. The whole thing shatters in her hand, dripping egg over her fingers and into the bowl. 

"No!" 

"Marianne, are you hurt!" 

"The bowl's ruined," she whispers. 

"Pardon?"

"The bowl's ruined. I touched the egg, and it fell in the bowl…"

"Oh, that's not so bad…" 

"I'm so, so sorry Lorenz, but it's ruined. The bowl is ruined." 

"I can't imagine what you mean…"

She wants to run. She should run. But that food must be destroyed. If someone eats it… if someone eats food she has touched…

_ Disappearances. Diseases. Disasters. Fangs, fangs carving furrows into flesh.  _

"Lorenz," she says, mustering everything she has, "you must throw away that food." 

"That would be quite wasteful, Marianne. Not to mention irresponsible, if we nobles were to throw away perfectly good food while commoners count pennies…" 

"It's not good food."  _ Why can't he understand?  _ A flicker of annoyance in her chest. She wonders if it will become—

She sees a sharp-toothed maw tearing chunks of flesh out of an arm. Lorenz's arm. She sees it down the muzzle of her own snout. 

All the anger drains out of her. Marianne clutches her fingers as cold seeps into her belly. No. No. 

"Please, Lorenz. Please." 

"Oh my… I… Very well, Marianne. Very well."

She watches as he throws the bowl of onions, carrots, eggs and spices into the garbage. Only when the deed is done does she let him urge her out of the kitchen. "I shall cover your shift, Marianne. I beg of you, please go and rest."

"Th-thank you…"

She lingers, guilty, torn. Turns to go. 

"Marianne?"

She pauses. She has to. He's being so kind to her. 

Lorenz gives a courtly little bow. "I do hate to see you so sad, Marianne. Could you not, before you go, try a little smile? Just for me?"

_ FANGS CARVING FURROWS INTO FLESH— _

She flinches, clamps down on her fingers as if to press the claws back inside them. Forces her lips to curve upward. 

"Beautiful!" Lorenz declares. 

She runs out of the room. 

* * *

The library is safe. Just like the cathedral. If Marianne is in the library or the cathedral, she can't be a beast. Beasts can't pray. Beasts can't read. 

"Ugh, I hate the library!" 

Hilda leans dramatically against the nearest bookshelf, a hand to her forehead. 

"We've been in here for an hour and we're only half done!" Hilda casts a despairing gesture at the cart piled high with books to be reshelved. 

"I'm sorry I'm so slow," says Marianne. 

Hilda stands up straighter. "That's not what I meant! You can be as slow as you want, Marianne. Ugh, especially since you had kitchen duty today too, didn't you?"

Marianne drops the book she's holding. She rushes to pick it up. 

"Y-yes…" 

Hilda continues as if she didn't notice. "Library chores and kitchen duty in the same day is just unfair. It's not right. Who were you partnered with? The professor?"

"No… Lorenz…"

"Ha!" Hilda tosses her hair. "At least it's easy to convince him to do most of the work." 

The next book falls out of Marianne's hands too. 

Hilda picks it up for her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm…"

She has Lorenz's arm in her teeth again. Sharp fangs sinking into flesh, the cold crunch of bones cracking—

"S-sorry, Hilda." Marianne takes the book back, clutches it to her chest to keep it from slipping out of her shaking hands. 

"It's okay."

Marianne ducks her head to hide her face and goes back to shelving books. Hilda lingers. 

"You know, you can tell me anything, Marianne." 

"I know." 

"Did something happen in the kitchen with Lorenz?"

She shudders. "Something almost happened."  _ I almost killed him.  _

Hilda thrusts herself between Marianne and the book cart. "Did Lorenz do something to you?"

"No!" the idea startles Marianne so much she could almost laugh. Almost. Lorenz isn't the one Hilda should be worried about. 

"Listen, Mari. If there's something wrong… I wouldn't say this to just anyone, but if you need anything, you just let me know, and I'll sweet-talk a boy into doing it for you. Okay?"

Marianne gives her the obligatory smile. 

"And if we can't find a boy who can do it… I'll do it myself. Okay?" Hilda is right in her face now. "I'll do it myself." 

The smile drains from Marianne's face and a sudden rush of sadness floods in. Her lip wobbles, unable to hold it back. 

"Hilda… there's… there's something w-wrong with me." 

"What? No there isn't!" 

"Y-yes—"

"Who told you that?"

"W-what?"

"If someone is bullying you, you have to tell me, Marianne, and I'll stop them. I'll stop them myself if I have to." 

"No, it's not that—" 

"Then what is it?"

"I tol-told you—"

"Marianne. Look at me." Hilda takes Marianne's hands in hers. "There is nothing wrong with you, okay?"

_ Monster.  _

"You're wonderful."

_ Beast.  _

"You're perfect!" 

_ MONSTER, MONSTER, MONSTER— _

"Why can't you just listen to me!" Marianne shouts. 

Hilda steps back. As stunned as if Marianne had hit her. As if Marianne had attacked her. As if Marianne had bared teeth, smelled blood, flashed claws, bit down—

"Look… I'll… I'll just finish up here by myself. Okay? You go back to your room and lie down. Get some rest. Can you do that for me, Marianne?"

_ Can I? Can I do that? What if I lose control right now, bite the hands holding mine, make her bleed for getting too close to me—bleed all over the books like the beast I am— _

"Marianne?"

"Yes, I'll… I'll go, I'll leave… I'll get away, I won't—"

"Okay. Hey. Look at me." 

Marianne looks at Hilda, at her beautiful smiling face. Imagines that face streaked with blood, tattered and gashed by claws. 

She whimpers. 

Hilda only smiles wider. "You must be pretty special if you've got me doing your chores for you, right?"

Marianne closes her eyes. 

"Come on." Hilda squeezes her hands. "I'm not going to let you go until you say 'yes, I'm special.'"

"Yes, I'm special," Marianne murmurs, and flees the room. 

_ Oh, she has no idea how special I am.  _

* * *

It is the hour of the beast. 

Midnight on a full moon. 

Marianne skips dinner to be at the cathedral before the sun sets. Well before the moon rises. She will be here until dawn the next day. It's the only thing that works. The only way to keep the others safe from her. 

She knelt until her knees hurt, then sat until her back and bottom hurt. And still the night is far from over. 

_ Goddess… please… save me from this. Save the people around me… And if nothing else… give me the courage… the courage… _

Marianne buries her face in her arms to dull her sobs. At least no one else is around to hear them echoing in the empty arches. 

_ Light tread through ashen snow—raised hackles, lowered head—a beast on the hunt, stalking its prey— _

A hand touches her shoulder and she screams. 

"Get away from me!" 

"I'm so sorry!"

Marianne sits up. She had fallen asleep stretched out on the pew. She blinks darkness and sleep out of her eyes until the pale blur beside her resolves into golden hair and a face tinged blue in the moonlight. 

"D-Dimitri?"

"Are you all right, Marianne? Did you collapse?"

His brow is furrowed with worry, but it's misplaced. He's sitting far too close. If she reached out a hand she could touch him.

"S-stay back..." she mutters, pushing herself upright. "Stay away from me."

He scooches down the pew immediately. "Marianne, if you are feeling unwell you must go to the infirmary." 

_ If I went to the infirmary… if I was around all those injured people… _

The ghost of the scent of blood flares in her nostrils. Her chest aches. A repressed growl.  _ Blood fur fangs claws—weak prey—easy meal— _

She shakes her head violently. "They can't help me." 

"I… I see."

She folds her hands in her lap. Curls in on herself. He doesn't see. No one sees. How could they? They're human, and she…

In her mind, Dimitri slumps in the pew, his neck bent too sharply to the side. A chunk of flesh torn out of his neck. His uniform shiny black with blood. A trickle of it drips down her lips. She licks it, and tastes salt. 

"You're in danger here," Marianne murmurs. 

His face does not change. "I am in danger everywhere I go." 

"You don't understand." She can't keep the squeak out of her voice.  _ FANGS CARVING FURROWS INTO FLESH—  _ "It's… dangerous for you to… You really need to stay away from me." 

He straightens. "I will depart immediately, if you wish it—" 

"It's not about what I wish. I just mean… I could hurt you. I don't want to hurt you." 

"Ah." He nods, grave and solemn. Does not move. 

"The people around me get hurt."

_ Disappearances. Diseases. Disasters. Disappearances. Diseases. Disasters. Disappearances, Diseases. Disasters.  _

"The people around me get hurt, too." He folds his hands neatly in his lap. "Perhaps it is you who should stay away from me."

She sees her teeth in his neck, dragging him into the shadows. A trail of blood on the stones marking her guilt. 

_ No no no no no _ —

"It's not the same," she whispers. 

"What do you mean?"

"I'm…"

She is tired. So tired. 

Tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of putting others in danger with her mere presence. Especially people as kind as Dimitri.

"I'm... a beast." 

Dimitri is silent for a long while. Marianne holds still, not even shaking. Maybe if she was still enough he would forget she was there. If she was still enough, she would disappear. 

Finally, he sighs. "Ah." Then he sits back, makes himself more comfortable on the pew. "All right."

Marianne can't help herself. She looks up. He's just sitting quietly, staring off into the distance. 

"You… you believe me?"

His face is dim in the twilight, but she can see his eyes. "Why should I not believe you? I am one, as well." 

"Oh…"

He can't be a beast. He has the crest of Blaiddyd, not her abomination of a crest. He's so polite, so handsome, so courteous. He's nothing like her. It's unbearable that he thinks he is.

"Dimitri…"

He looks at her with blank, expressionless eyes. 

She waits for something horrible to happen. He waits with her. 

"Perhaps," she says, finally, "if we are both… if we are both…"

"Beasts," he says, without inflection. 

"Beasts," she agrees. It's easier to say, now that she has said it. "Then… perhaps… we are the only ones safe around each other." 

In the darkness, he looks at her. 

A gentle smile touches the corners of his lips. "Yes," he says. "Perhaps that is so." 

She still cannot leave the cathedral. Not yet. But Dimitri sits with her for the rest of the night. She falls asleep on the pew with his head just inches from hers. And this time, when she dreams of fangs and claws and beasts howling in dark woods, she is not afraid. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I have OCD similar to what I portrayed Marianne as having in this fic. When I first started having intrusive thoughts, I thought it meant I wanted to do the things that were popping into my mind, and that terrified me, just like Marianne thinks she wants to hurt people just because her OCD is showing her violent, scary images. I didn't realize what was happening to me at first, because OCD is stereotyped in the media as being about "being really clean and organized." Which can be true for some people, but not for the vast majority of people with OCD! Anyway I'm not a doctor and I can't speak for what OCD is like for most people, but I saw myself in Marianne a bit and that's why I wanted to write this fic. I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
